


a catalogue of mars

by fangirl_squee



Category: The Thrilling Adventure Hour
Genre: Gen, M/M, sparks nevada is a huge nerd about filing systems pass it on, sparks/croach preslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:01:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26173153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl_squee/pseuds/fangirl_squee
Summary: Sparks Nevada and his truest love: paperwork.
Relationships: Croach the Tracker/Sparks Nevada
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	a catalogue of mars

Sparks didn’t have a lot of time for paperwork when he was first made Marshal. Between helping Martian tribes with off-world raiders and petty townsfolk disputes, it felt like he spent most of the first few months running all over the planet.

After a while things calmed down some, and he finally had the time to catch up on all the appropriate forms and reports. You know how, when there’s something that you  _ love _ to do, but things just get so busy and it takes you awhile to get a chance to do it, and then when you  _ finally _ get that block of time to do that thing you love, how good that feels?

Yeah, Sparks did  _ not  _ get that.

He filled out the various paperwork quick enough but when he went to file it away, well, let’s just say that the station’s previous occupant hadn’t been  _ quite _ as fond of this particular aspect of the job of Sparks was. As far as Sparks could tell, the filing system was ‘type something up and then put it in one of the filing cabinets in literally any order’.

He sighed, resolving to put in a requisition order for a labelling machine since the particular AI associated with the station didn’t have access to that particular application. That wasn’t so much of a bother, he’d always preferred the older models of label machines, the methodical process of typing in the letters and waiting for the long strip to print out.

But, while he waited for that request to make its way through the various departments of the Mars-Earth Coalition, he got started on figuring out what was actually  _ in _ the old files.

Everything, it turned out.

Parole applications, witness statements, wanted posters, bar receipts (both expensed and non-expensed), lost property reports… all tumbled together in no particular order that Sparks could discern. He sighed and set about putting it to rights, separating everything out into piles to suit his future classification system.

He rapidly ran out of room on the desks and chairs and was starting to use the long stretch of windowsill by the door when Croach entered, taking in the paperwork strewn around the room with his usual mix of confusion and interest. Sparks liked that look about him.

“Howdy Croach,” said Sparks, “What brings you out this way?”

“My onus, Sparks Nevada.”

“Right,” said Sparks, giving his most confident nod, or as confident as he could given that he didn’t quite get the whole process of onuses.

As with most things on Mars, he understood enough to get by. If an onus was what it took to get Croach to keep coming around that was fine by him. He could certainly use the extra pair of hands.

Croach peered at the closest pile of paper to him (lost property requests: H: hats: property recovered).

“Sparks Nevada,” said Croach, “What is it that you are attempting to do with all this?”

“Just gettin’ a few things organised.”

Croach blinked, taking a long moment to look around the room. “This appears to be more than just a few things.”

Sparks shrugged. “It’s gotta be done at some point by someone, might as well be me in the here and now. Besides, it’s an important part of the process even if it’s been a little… skipped over by my predecessor.”

“It does not seem to have been considered to be a priority,” said Croach consideringly. He paused. “It would reduce my onus to assist you.”

“Aw, you don’t have to do that-”

“I do,” said Croach, “As I have stated to you many times, I must reduce my onus-”

“I just know it’s not most folk’s thing is all,” said Sparks, “Marshallin’ not for everybody.”

“I am not  _ marshalling _ ,” said Croach, sounding as scandalised as Sparks had ever heard him, “I am  _ reducing my onus to you _ .”

“Right,” said Sparks, “but there’s probably ways to do that that you’ll have a better time with. Plus I don’t want to explain the whole filing system to you, so.”

“You must, Sparks Nevada,” said Croach gravely, “or otherwise I-”

“Your onus, right, yeah,” said Sparks. He huffed a breath, tucked the handful of pages he’d been sorting through under his arm. “Okay, we’ll start from the top- Do you want a datapad to take notes, or...?”

“The senses that are responsible for my memories are fully intact and of excellent capabilities,” said Croach, “I will not require  _ notes _ .”

“Right, sure,” said Sparks.

Croach was true to his word, or at least true enough that Sparks was able to give him the more general task of sorting out actual paperwork from all the other extraneous papers that had found their way into the files. True to Sparks’ word, Croach did not seem to enjoy it.

“Like I said,” said Sparks, “Marshallin’s not for everybody-”

“I am not  _ marshalling _ , I am-”

“-but I appreciate the company,” finished Sparks.

Corach blinked, an odd expression flickering over his face before it returned to its usual impassive expression. “Then… that is how I shall repay my onus to you. With company.”

Sparks felt his cheeks heat. “Ah- that’s- fine. Great. See you around, then, I guess.”

“I will see you tomorrow Sparks Nevada,” said Croach.

“Right,” said Sparks, “Yeah, I guess you will.”

Croach was strange but pleasant company to have while he went through getting the files straightened out. Sparks worked steadily as Croach watched, occasionally helping to guide people away from the door when they arrived with some emergency or other, to stop them from disturbing the neatly organised stacks of paper.

The label maker arrived after a time, and Croach agreed to print the labels. Sparks suspected it was as much for onus reasons as it was for the satisfaction of seeing the neat label strip print out of the small machine. He knew better than to say as much, of course, but it was nice to agree on something for once.

Red, when she arrived, was not as enthralled.

“If you can’t remember where the paper’s at, then maybe you shouldn’t have that paper, Nevada.”

“It ain’t just about me, Red,” said Sparks.

“Who in the galaxy would need to know about-” she took a paper off the desk, her eyes scanning the page “-about application process 2C39: allowed colours for hypercattle fencing?”

“All sorts of people,” said Sparks, “There’s me, ranchers…”

“That’s two.”

“There’s more than two ranchers on Mars, so,” said Sparks.

“Splittin’ hairs Nevada,” said Red.

“Am not.”

Red rolled her eyes, picking up the label maker. Croach took half a step towards her and then took half a step back again.

“Hey,” said Sparks, “careful now.”

“Calm down, it ain’t like it’s loaded,” said Red.

She wrinkled her nose, typing something on the label maker’s tiny keypad. Sparks momentarily forgot to be annoyed, caught up in the way the expression altered the constellation of freckles across her face.

“There,” said Red, printing off a label.

Faster than Sparks could react she peeled the backing off the label, sticking onto the chair behind Spark’s desk.

The tiny label read  _ S P A R K S _ .

“Now that ain’t even accurate,” said Sparks, “anyone can see that’s a chair, and not me.”

“I’m just trying to help with your filin’,” said Red.

“Well you’re not, so.”

Red huffed. “Fine.” She turned, heading for the door. “Come find me when you’re in the middle of somethin’ a little more interestin’.”

“This is interesting,” said Sparks.

“It… is not,” said Croach.

“Come on, not you too,” said Sparks, “This is an important part of marshalling. Maybe the  _ most _ important, after helpin’ people.”

“I am not interested in marshaling,” said Croach.

“A shame,” said Sparks, “You’d probably do alright at it.”

“It would be an even greater shame to take part in it, Sparks Nevada.”

“So you’re not taking part in being a deputy?”

“ _ No _ .”

“Then what do you call this?” said Sparks, gesturing to the half-organised room.

“Fulfilling my onus,” said Croach flatly.

Sparks huffed a laugh. “Guess I should have expected that one.”

Despite his insistence at not taking part in any part of the marshal’s service, Croach continued to return. Deputy or not, it was good to have someone to rely on, whether they were out on the plains of Mars, breaking up a saloon fight, or back at the station.

Croach picked up the paperwork almost as soon as Sparks had finished typing it, stepping towards the filing cabinet.

“Hey, whoa now,” said Sparks, “Where do you think you’re going with that?”

“I am reducing my overall onus by completing this menial task of filing this paperwork, Sparks Nevada.”

Sparks folded his arms. “And just where were you going to do that?”

“It is clearly labelled,” said Croach, “This paperwork is for a class E space-cattle rustling charge, and as such should obviously be filed under Cattle, Class E, SC, Charges, Completed.”

Sparks ducked his head, unable to stop the smile that threatened to take over his face entirely. “Obviously. Glad you’ve been paying attention.”

“It is important to make note of such things as this,” said Croach, “Otherwise it becomes unmanageable.” He paused. “Cactoid Jim was not… as fond of a detailed filing system. During his reign such processes became quite frustrating to follow.”

Sparks didn’t try to hide his grin this time. “Yeah, it’s… important.”

“It is,” said Croach.

Sparks watched as Croach selected the right file in the correct cabinet, something warm uncurling in his chest. It was good to be home.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi: mariusperkins on most places


End file.
